The struggle and (im)possibilities of decolonizing Latin American citizenship practices and politics in Toronto

Introduction

What’s in a name? During my research on Latin American political organizing in Toronto, Ontario, a major discussion among community members unfolded about the naming of a yearly cultural celebration – Hispanic Heritage Month (HHM). This was not a new conversation, as dissent around using the term ‘Hispanic’ to refer to people of Latin America has been longstanding. However, in 2015, it became a more public site of conflict. Community elites (i.e. elected officials, non-profit board members and executive directors) were in favour of the Hispanic label, but many youth and community worker-activists opposed it due to its centering of European Spanish identity and erasing of Black and Indigenous identities. They proposed using more progressive alternatives like ‘Latin American’ or ‘Latinx’ ¹ that are inclusive of various racial and gender identities and opted to create an alternative celebration – the Latin-America History Collective’s (LAHC) Día de la Verdad/Day of Truth Rally. On the surface, this point of contention may appear as merely a struggle over a name that to most community outsiders appears interchangeable and thus trivial.

However, names are political. They wield power and are steeped in white supremacy. Upon closer examination of HHM, the Hispanic vs Latin American/Latinx debate is not solely about a name, but about the power hierarchies underpinning the name. It is about how an ethnic, diasporic community sought to represent itself and claim space within the Canadian white settler state, while struggling with its own legacies of colonialism. What’s in a name, in this case, is over 500 years of colonial violence and decolonial resistance that plays out in a racialized migrant group’s struggle for recognition and belonging.

In this paper, I demonstrate that the narratives and actions mobilized around HHM and LAHC’s Rally reveal how different forms of migrant political organizing, or citizenship practices, can internalize, reproduce and contest white settler colonial social relations. Although there is a rich literature on migrants’ citizenship formation (Ehrkamp and Leitner, 2003, 2006; Stasiulis and Bakan, 2005) and neoliberal citizenship (Ilcan and Basok, 2004; Mitchell, 2001; Trudeau, 2008; Veronis, 2006), less is known about the ways racialized migrants or non-native people of colour negotiate their identities, politics and citizenship practices in relation to settler colonialism (Dhamoon, 2013; Morgensen, 2014; Pulido, 2017; Saranillio, 2013). I address this gap by drawing on Sunera Thobani’s (2007) theory of white settler citizenship in Canada that firmly grounds the institution of citizenship in processes of settler colonialism. I explore how Latin Americans in Toronto organize around a cultural celebration to engage in, or oppose white settler citizenship, and thus settler colonialism. I use the terms ‘white settler’ and ‘white settler citizenship’ in line with Razack’s (2002), Thobani’s (2007) and Morgensen’s (2014) efforts to underscore the interconnected racial and colonial power relationships embedded within these terms. I also demonstrate how Latin Americans enact a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging – an alternative way of practicing citizenship that interrogates settler colonialism and gives rise to decolonial possibilities. Therefore, this study contributes to literature on citizenship formation, race and Latin American identities in Canada.

After reviewing the literature examining how migrant political organizing can reaffirm or contest white settler citizenship in Canada, I provide a historicized description of the Latin American diaspora in Toronto. Then I share an in-depth exploration of the politics surrounding HHM, paying special attention to enactments of a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging like the formation of the LAHC and their Día de la Verdad/Day of Truth Rally.

Unpacking tensions in migrant political organizing: Seeking white settler citizenship or working towards decolonization?

Migrant political organizing, particularly through non-profit, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), has been understood as a significant way for migrant groups to consolidate power, gain recognition, access resources and integrate within host societies like Canada (Schrover and Vermeulen, 2005; Trudeau, 2012).In this way, NGOs have acted as key sites for migrants to participate politically and thus enact citizenship even without formal citizenship – being legally recognized as citizens (Ehrkamp and Leitner, 2003, 2006; Veronis, 2010). In other words, NGOs are sites where migrants can exercise substantive citizenship – complex practices of political expression and negotiation over ‘rights, access and belonging that shape the flow of resources to persons and social groups’ (Basok, 2004: 50). For the purposes of this paper, I am interested in substantive citizenship because this is what is being enacted by Latin American migrants in their support and contestation of HHM and the emergence of LAHC.

There is a rich literature exposing the contradictions migrants negotiate when politically organizing and enacting citizenship within NGOs, especially since the rise of neoliberalism in the late 1980s (Ilcan and Basok, 2004; Jessop, 2002; Landolt et al., 2011; Mitchell, 2001; Trudeau, 2008, 2012; Veronis, 2006, 2010). However, there is a need for more in-depth analyses that anchor citizenship within ongoing processes of settler colonialism and that explore how racialized migrants negotiate the racial–colonial underpinnings of citizenship within their political organizing efforts (Bannerji, 2000; Snelgrove et al., 2014; Thobani, 2007). This is precisely what this paper aims to do by exploring how Latin Americans’ citizenship practices and political organizing in Toronto reinforce or challenge white settler citizenship in Canada.

According to Patrick Wolfe (2006), settler colonialism is an ongoing violent process based in a logic of elimination where settlers seek to occupy, dominate and replace the Indigenous population. In this way, settlers ‘become the law’, superseding Indigenous laws, knowledges and ways of life (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 6). One critical way settlers become the law, Thobani (2007) demonstrates, is through citizenship, which is integral to the advancement of settler colonialism in Canada. European settlers drew and enforced the boundaries of legal and substantive citizenship (i.e. who could enter, stay, own land, be recognized, participate, have rights and access resources) and elevated whiteness as the embodiment of ‘legitimate and responsible citizenship’ (p. 75). In this way, white settlers made themselves lawful citizens and worthy inheritors of Indigenous land, underscoring their industriousness and ingenuity for economic development (Razack, 2002; Thobani, 2007). Therefore, citizenship in Canada is rooted in white supremacy and colonial violence, as it was instituted in a triangulated form, granting rights, recognition and opportunities to white settlers, while dispossessing Indigenous people and excluding non-native people of colour:

… the Aboriginal, marked for physical and cultural extinction, deserving of citizenship only upon abdication of indigeneity; the ‘preferred race’ settler and future national, exalted as worthy of citizenship and membership in the nation; and the ‘non-preferred race’ immigrant, marked as stranger and sojourner, an unwelcome intruder whose lack of Christian faith, inherent deviant tendencies and unchecked fecundity all threatened the nation’s survival. (p. 75)

Canadian multiculturalism claims to respect and promote cultural diversity and offers racialized migrants the promise of recognition and inclusion, but has been heavily critiqued for ultimately failing to address power inequities between white settlers, Indigenous people and people of colour (Bannerji, 2000; Simpson et al., 2011; Thobani, 2007). Bannerji (2000) argues that Canadian multiculturalism works as an ideological state apparatus to depoliticize racialized migrants’ anti-colonial, anti-racist and anti-capitalist political organizing, and formalizes these struggles into NGOs that seek state funding to provide services to different cultural groups and to hold cultural celebrations. For example, the 1988 Multicultural Act mandated civil society organizations to advance multiculturalism in their goals and initiatives (Mahtani, 2002). What this meant for racialized migrant groups was that they were pushed to perform ‘culturalist tropes’ and reflect an image of an apolitical, homogenous, distinct cultural community, to be recognized as worthy of state funding (Bannerji, 2000; Thobani, 2007: 162). In other words, Canadian multiculturalism, as a mechanism of settler colonialism, pushed migrants and their NGOs to strive for white settler citizenship to gain recognition and access to resources.

By appealing to Canadian multiculturalism in their NGOs and political organizing, racialized migrants do not necessarily challenge the institution of Canadian citizenship that continues to deny Indigenous sovereignty, and marginalize people of colour (Bannerji, 2000; Dhamoon, 2013; Thobani, 2007). This is because racialized migrants seek parity with white settlers by presenting themselves as exemplary, productive peoples who rightfully belong in Canada because of their contributions to building the nation (Bannerji, 2000; Dhamoon, 2013; Thobani, 2007). In this way, racialized migrants reinforce white settler citizenship in their claims of worthy membership in a way that parallels justifications used by European settlers who cast themselves as industrious and deserving of the land because of their ability to use it ‘productively’, while casting Indigenous people as ‘lazy, uncivilized’ and ‘nomadic’ (Phung, 2011: 294). Saranillio (2013) shows how Asian Americans can participate in settler colonialism by using similar disparaging narratives in Hawaiian local politics.

Although racialized migrants cannot be equivocated with earlier European settlers, how they politically organize can uphold white settler citizenship, and thus make them complicit in the perpetuation of settler colonialism (Phung, 2011; Saranillio, 2013; Stanley et al., 2014). Chickasaw scholar, Jodi Byrd (2011), uses the term ‘arrivant’ to describe the unique position of non-native people of colour living on Indigenous lands, who are subjected to racial-colonial oppression, but must negotiate their role in settler colonialism and decolonization struggles. Dhamoon (2013: 20) articulates these dynamics in her study of Sikh struggles for recognition and inclusion in Canada:

Either way, settler colonialism does not need the consent of a (Sikh) minority to operate. However, even while non-Indigenous peoples of color are not sovereign in Canada and might contest settler colonialism, when they submit to the state’s authority they are implicated in the dispossession of Indigenous lands.

Hunt and Holmes (2015) emphasize the importance of non-Indigenous people building relationships with and supporting the struggles of Indigenous people. While public demonstrations, from protests to blockades, are important enactments of solidarity and resistance, Hunt and Holmes (2015: 159) argue for a ‘both/and’ approach that considers people’s everyday actions within the intimate spaces they inhabit as vital to decolonization (p. 159). They demonstrate how a decolonial queer politic, which goes beyond inclusion and addresses the mutually constituted nature of race, sexuality and gender, will allow for meaningful cross-cultural relationship building, self-reflection and self-education. Furthermore, a decolonial queer politic requires exposing and challenging Canada’s violent past and present:

It necessarily involves having ongoing conversations that challenge the pervasive colonial narratives about “thanksgiving,” “Canada Day,” and “explorers,” bringing a critical and decolonial lens to examining news media, books, toys, music, films and … the connections between colonialism and the enforcement of a hetero/cisnormative gender binary … . (Hunt and Holmes, 2015: 164)

Latinx scholars of cultural citizenship in the United States have also theorized alternative paths to belonging that racialized migrants can take that appear similar but are distinct from the decolonizing paths offered by the above authors. In their ground-breaking text, Latino Cultural Citizenship: Claiming Identity, Space and Rights, Flores and Benmayor (1997), provide an in-depth account of cultural citizenship from the perspective of Latin Americans in the United States. They define cultural citizenship as a ‘broad range of activities of everyday life through which Latinos and other groups claim space in society and eventually claim rights’ (Flores and Benmayor, 1997: 15). Cultural citizenship is grounded in processes of community building, empowerment, fostering a sense of belonging through cultural expression, as well as challenging power systems and re-imagining American society (Flores and Benmayor, 1997).

While cultural citizenship can be oppositional to the white status quo, it does not directly grapple with settler colonialism and can risk reinforcing settler colonial relations as racialized people can take up cultural citizenship to claim rightful belonging without considering the negation of Indigenous sovereignty or how at times ‘Latino’ or other forms of cultural expression can be exclusionary to Indigenous, Black and transgender people from Latin America. This kind of reproduction of exclusion can be seen in Dhamoon’s (2013) study exploring how Sikh struggles to practice their faith and culture, inadvertently led to reifying the legitimacy of the settler colonial state. Instead, she proposes racialized migrants look to engaging in a politics of disruption: ‘a persistent and intentional questioning of the forces of power that produce, reproduce and stabilize calcified meanings and structures of difference’ (Dhamoon, 2013: 25).

Although scholars and activists have provided insightful and provocative blueprints to imagining and enacting decolonization, more analyses are needed to better understand how racialized migrants negotiate their membership and identities between decolonial and white settler projects, especially in Canada. In this paper, I connect and extend discussions on migrant politics, citizenship, settler colonialism and decolonization in Canada by exploring the case of Latin Americans’ political organizing in Toronto through cultural celebrations like HHM and LAHC’s Día de la Verdad/Day of Truth Rally. This case is especially unique as it shows how racialized migrants understand and use cultural celebrations towards different political ends that can reinforce or challenge settler colonialism. In the following section, I share a brief and historicized portrait of the Latin American diaspora in Toronto, highlighting how colonial legacies stemming from Latin America inform contemporary identities and politics in Canada.

Historicizing Latin American politics and identity in Toronto

In this paper, I use the term ‘Latin American’ ² to refer to people who trace their familial and personal histories, identities and culture to the geographical region that is now known as Latin America, which encompasses Mexico, Central and South America and the Caribbean. In Canada, the Latin American population numbers 544,380 and the majority reside in Toronto, Ontario, where over 185,000 have made home (Statistics Canada, 2011). Despite their active involvement in community organizations, Latin Americans face numerous socioeconomic challenges in Canadian society including discrimination, over-representation in low-wage jobs and higher rates of youth not completing high school (Lindsay and Statistics Canada, 2007). The Latin American population in Toronto is also highly diverse in terms of nationality, race, class, political affiliations, arrival times and reasons for migration (Veronis, 2010). As such, there is not one Latin American nationality that is significantly over-represented than others. Furthermore, while Latin Americans are one of the fastest growing ethnic groups, it only accounts for almost 3% of the population in Toronto, making it a much smaller group in comparison to South Asian (12.3%) and Chinese (10.8%) populations in the city (City of Toronto, 2013). This context is drastically different from the United States where Latin Americans are the largest ethnic group and represent 18% of the population, numbering 58 million in 2016 (Flores, 2017). Latin Americans on either side of the United States–Canada border, still grapple with racism and are perceived as not belonging, yet in the United States, narratives around ‘illegality’ and ‘criminality’ are more pronounced in public discourse and by state actors (Landolt, 2008).

Differences in nationality and context of migration intersect with differences across race, class and political affiliations that amplify the heterogeneity of the Latin American population in Toronto. These axes of difference can be connected to legacies of settler colonialism in Latin America as theorized by Speed (2017). Although each country in Latin America underwent colonization in distinct ways, colonizing processes were rooted in notions of white superiority that subjugated Indigenous and Black populations through land dispossession, occupation, enslavement, cultural repression and other forms of violence (Graham, 1990; Quijano, 2007; Speed, 2017). Prevalent across Latin America was the ideology and practice of mestizaje (miscegenation or racial mixture), that was imposed by Spanish and Portuguese settlers as a way to assimilate Indigenous and Black populations (Cahill, 1994; Saldaña-Portillo, 2016). Over time, mestizaje enabled the formation of a racial hierarchy that privileges whiteness, whereby mestizos are heralded as a new and improved race due to mixing with white Europeans, while indigeneity and Blackness are disparaged, relegated to the past and erased in national discourses (Graham, 1990; Saldaña-Portillo, 2016; Speed, 2017). Mestizaje continues to be a dominating logic in Latin America that materially and discursively privileges light-skin mestizos and white individuals who identify with European ancestry, while disadvantaging darker-skin mestizos, Indigenous and Black people in different ways (Urrieta, 2012).

Due to this history and present of mestizaje, Latin Americans arriving to Toronto cannot be understood as a homogenous ethno-racial community, as they claim a range of identities from Indigenous, Black, Brown, Latinx, Hispanic and European, that carry different positions of power and privilege in their nations of origin and in Canada. As Pendleton-Jiménez (2008) writes, ‘Latinas converge upon the Toronto landscape as descendants of both colonizers and Indigenous peoples, holding conflicted membership in the Americas’ (p. 120). This is similar, but distinct from the case of Chicanxs that Pulido (2017) explores, as they are indigenous to the U.S. southwest and lost their land through the Mexican–American War, yet are complicit in settler colonial processes that adversely impact native Indigenous people. Upon arriving to Canada, Latin Americans move from one settler colonial context that privileges whiteness (Castellanos, 2017; Speed, 2017) and enter into another where they are now constructed as foreigners who are disadvantaged in relation to the white majority. So how do Latin American migrants and their descendants reconcile notions of race and identity they’ve inherited from Latin America’s colonial past and haunted present, within settler colonial Canada? In other words, how do Latin Americans make sense of their role and membership in the Canadian polity? One telling way is what they call themselves.

In the United States, struggles over identity labels, particularly the terms Hispanic and Latino, have been a major facet of Latin American politics (Alcoff, 2005; Oboler, 1992; Padilla, 1985). Although the term Hispanic connotes ties to Spain and Spanish colonialism, it is a newer development that was imposed by the U.S. government in 1978, ‘at the suggestion of the king of Spain for all those “whose culture or origin” is Spanish, “regardless of race”’ (Toro, 1998: 53, as quoted in Alcoff, 2005: 403). The term Hispanic has been critiqued for re-casting Latin Americans as Spanish subjects, ignoring internal differences across race and disempowering Latin Americans to define themselves (Alcoff, 2005; Oboler, 1992). Yet, historically, Latin American political elites and middle-class professionals have aligned themselves more strongly with the Hispanic label to appear more amenable to the white majority, and gain social mobility (Alcoff, 2005; Calderon, 1992; Gomez, 1992).

On the other hand, ‘Latino’ has been mobilized by grassroots activist groups since the 1970s as an alternative pan-ethnic identity label that is based on a shared experience of racial discrimination and poverty in the United States, but also on a shared impetus for social action (Padilla, 1985). However, Sandoval and Ortiz’s (2009) framework of Latino identity cautions that possibilities for solidarity among Latinos may be thwarted due to their different experiences of race and class in the United States. Furthermore, the terms ‘Latino’ and Latin American have been critiqued for centering brownness, while invisibilizing indigeneity and Blackness (Milian, 2013). More recently, Latinx has been created by transgender, gender non-conforming and queer people of Latin American descent to challenge the gendering of language and foreground identities that transgress the gender binary (Ramirez and Blay, 2016).

It is clear identity labels continue to shift among Latin Americans in the United States, but less is known about the unique experiences of Latin Americans in Canada. While to my knowledge there is no study historically documenting the use of labels like Hispanic, or Latin American in Toronto or Canada, even among community members I spoke with, it is unclear when these terms came to be used and why; scholars have rigorously traced the development of Latin American-serving organizations, which can illuminate how labels were mobilized over time (Landolt and Goldring, 2009; Landolt et al., 2011; Veronis, 2010). When Latin Americans first arrived, they created organizations that used national identifiers (i.e. Peruvian cultural association) indicating that they understood their identities as rooted in their countries of origin instead of ‘pan-ethnically’ or by a shared language (Landolt and Goldring, 2009). The 1970s saw the development of organizations that used language and ethnic identifiers like the Hispanic Development Council and the Centre for Spanish Speaking People (CSSP), which was created by Spanish women to provide aid to Chilean refugee women fleeing the coup (Landolt and Goldring, 2009; Veronis, 2010). The case of CSSP, Toronto’s largest Latin American-serving NGO, shows how relationships formed between Spanish and Latin American migrants and may partly explain why there has been a tendency to use the Spanish-speaking or Hispanic label, instead of Latin American.

The rise of neoliberalization, during the late 1980s, pushed CSSP to adopt an increasingly institutionalized, male-dominated structure (Landolt and Goldring, 2009) and service provision mandate (Veronis, 2006, 2010). Landolt and Goldring’s (2009) in-depth historical tracing of Latin American-serving NGOs in Toronto shows how a small group of men emerged as the ‘leaders’ of pan-ethnic NGOs who developed close ties with government actors that recognized them as the leaders of the community, a dynamic which continues today (i.e. these leaders are invited to policy discussions, have input on decision-making, can influence grant funding decisions) (Cahuas, 2019). This shift exacerbated existing tensions within the community as CSSP and other pan-ethnic NGOs had been critiqued as spaces for men (Landolt and Goldring, 2009). Yet, this shift also prompted Latin American activists to create collectives, who explicitly used the term Latin American (Landolt and Goldring, 2009). Thus, arguably, in the context of Toronto, the term Latin American is seen as a more progressive identity that lends itself to a more anti-colonial, feminist and radical politics than Hispanic or Spanish-speaking labels espoused by pan-ethnic NGOs. However, it is important to recognize that over the years within ‘Hispanic’ and ‘Spanish-speaking’ NGOs there are community workers pushing anti-colonial, feminist politics, yet they face challenges from management, community elites and the constraints of a non-profit funding structure (Cahuas, 2019).

This paper builds on this past research by examining how Latin Americans in Toronto mobilize identities, politically organize and exercise citizenship in relation to settler colonialism. The findings shared below were collected as a part of a larger qualitative study carried out between 2015 and 2017, involving 38 in-depth interviews, a workshop and participant observation in key Latin American organizing spaces and at public cultural events, as well as analysis of grey literature (i.e. organizational documents, websites, legislation). Using testimonio, I interviewed Latinx women and non-binary community workers (LCWs) who served as paid staff, volunteers and activists at Latin American-serving non-profits. Testimonio is a decolonizing methodology that does not claim neutrality and instead serves to expose injustice and motivate people to action (Reyes and Curry Rodríguez, 2012). Thus, participants sought to visibilize and challenge the oppressions they faced in their everyday lives (Cahuas, 2019). My experience organizing with Latin American communities over the last 10 years as a Latina from Toronto, facilitated my ability to conduct interviews and to understand the political landscape LCWs were operating in and directed me to the HHM debate and LAHC. I conducted participant observation at sites of HHM discussions and LAHC organizing, taking note of who was speaking, what was said, core messages, visual representations and attendee participation. Due to my positionality as an LCW and commitment to LCWs’ struggles for social justice I also took part in organizing with LAHC and Poder. ³ Furthermore, I focus on LCWs’ voices purposefully as they go largely unrecognized within mainstream Latin American/Hispanic community politics and dominant society, even though they are the backbone of Latinx community life (see Cahuas, 2019).

I analyzed interview, observational and grey literature data using NVivo 11 to assist with coding for key themes. I triangulated my analysis of interviews, organizational documents and my observation of community events and activities over 2 years. Due to the sensitive nature of the interviews and some observational data collected, I used pseudonyms and removed identifying information to protect participants’ identities. The section below summarizes these findings, presenting information in people’s own words where possible.

Unsettling Bill 28 and ‘Good Settler Hispanic Subjects’

Bill 28, an Act to proclaim the month of October as HHM in the province of Ontario, received Royal Assent on 5 May 2015. Member of Provincial Parliament (MPP), Mrs Cristina Martins, introduced this bill with the support of leaders from various mainstream Hispanic, Spanish-speaking and pan-ethnic NGOs in Toronto. This move was the continuation of a longer effort at the municipal level by many of these leaders and Hispanic City Councillor, Cesar Palacio, to establish October as HHM in Toronto, partly in order to align with other Hispanic Heritage celebrations around the world, to get more visibility for Hispanic people and boost the local economy (see City of Toronto, 2014). Although proponents of HHM, especially the newly formed Hispanic Canadian Heritage Council (HCHC) leading the push for Bill 28, sought to use this event to promote Hispanic culture and gain political recognition from Canadian society, closer examination of Bill 28 shows how HHM internalizes and reproduces white settler colonial social relations. More specifically, the narratives mobilized by MPPs in Bill 28 reveal how state actors impose a framework of ‘good settler Hispanic’ subjects, onto Latin American populations, which erases internal differences, reifies white settler citizenship and forecloses opportunities for decolonization.

In the second and third readings of Bill 28 (2015), MPP Martins explicitly draws the boundaries around the category Hispanic. She traces the origins of the Hispanic community in Canada to migrants arriving from Spain in 1914 and then refers to people from ‘Spanish-speaking countries’ as Hispanics. Throughout Bill 28, there was little usage of the terms Latin America(n) and Latino was not used. However, there was some reference to the term Latin, which was interchanged with Hispanic. By using the identity marker Hispanic, MPPs grouped Latin Americans and Spaniards under the same category, which ignores critical differences in experiences of colonization and homogenizes Latin Americans as all identifying with Spanish ancestry. Therefore, the usage of the term Hispanic in this context renders Latin American migrants legible only as Spanish descendants and unable to define themselves in relation to their Black and Indigenous identities, which echoes scholars’ critiques of the label Hispanic (Alcoff, 2005; Oboler, 1992).

MPP narratives construct a portrait of good settler Hispanic subjects who are not on equal footing or the same as white Canadians, but still deserving some of the privileges of white settler citizenship because of their contributions to building the nation. For example, MPP Sergio characterizes Hispanics as ‘extremely hard-working people … very law-abiding citizens, very lovingly attached to their families and to their culture’ (Bill 28, 2nd reading, p. 877). MPP Baker lauds Hispanics for helping to make Canada ‘a paradise’ (Bill 28, 3rd reading, p. 3947). MPP Martow describes Hispanic Canadians who are successful entrepreneurs. She expresses deep admiration for the Gutfrajnds, her Mexican neighbours who ‘quickly got themselves established.Their kids, that very first year, put on skates and learned how to skate … the kids are so well adapted’ (Bill 28, 3rd reading, p. 3949). She also comments on how ‘blessed’ Canada is to partake in ‘the rich culture of Hispanic people’ referencing ‘the sensual sounds of bachata, merengue and reggaeton, as well as the sizzling scent of churros’ that will ‘dazzle visitors and tourists alike’ (Bill 28, 3rd reading, p. 3948).

Although MPPs most likely thought they were speaking positively about Hispanic people, the narratives above serve to relegate Hispanics to the position of good settler subjects and reifies white settler citizenship. First, by referencing the hard work ethic, law-abiding nature, entrepreneurialism and adaptability of Hispanics, MPPs designate these characteristics as what qualifies one for membership in the Canadian polity. These characteristics are integral to white settler citizenship and perpetuates the notion that people of colour must strive for parity with white Canadians to obtain legitimacy (Bannerji, 2000; Dhamoon, 2013; Phung, 2011; Thobani, 2007). In other words, good settler Hispanic subjects must display a set of skills that are deemed acceptable to the nation – owning businesses, encouraging the assimilation of their children and expressing their culture only if it does not threaten the status quo. At the same time, Hispanic culture is understood in stereotypical ways, exotified and commodified, which reinforces white Anglo-Saxon dominance, and is exemplary of the failure of Canadian multiculturalism in addressing the root causes of inequities (Bannerji, 2000; Thobani, 2007). The statements above reinforce the mythology of Canada as an innocent nation, leaving unquestioned who Canada is a paradise for and at whose expense. Realities of stolen and occupied Indigenous land, residential schools, anti-Black racism and migrant worker exploitation are made invisible.

Overall, the discussions of Bill 28 demonstrate how state actors impose a framework of good settler Hispanic subjects onto Latin American populations. In the following section, I detail a community conversation where Latin Americans exchange differing views in relation to their identity and politics, where some oppose and others aspire to fit into the framework of good settler Hispanic subjects, and thus aspire to achieve white settler citizenship.

A community discussion on the naming and politics of HHM

On 27 July 2015, the HCHC called a meeting to discuss the naming of HHM. HCHC describes itself as a non-profit organization that aims to increase the visibility and representation of Hispanics in Canada. It is structured with an Executive Director who is responsive to a board of directors, each of whom is a representative of a Hispanic, Spanish-speaking, or Latin American-serving NGO. Approximately 25 people were in attendance, including HCHC board members and affiliated people, community workers representing other Latin American-serving organizations and unaffiliated community members. There was a mix of ages, nationalities, genders and generations present, but HCHC board members and affiliates appeared to be middle-aged to older, first generation, professionals and community workers from other organizations tended to be second-generation young adults and middle-aged to older, long-time feminist activists.

After a round of introductions, HCHC leaders opened the discussion by stating that the purpose of this gathering was to discuss how the HHM name could be altered, but that the term Hispanic would remain. This led to confusion among non-HCHC member attendees since they thought this would be a conversation on the importance of changing the name to be inclusive to Latin American community members, not only people who identify with Hispanic heritage. A community worker expressed that it would be important to propose alternatives to the name since people ‘are not wanting to be difficult’, but that these are ‘serious issues rooted in colonization’ that resonate strongly with many. Proposals were put forward including Latin American History Month and Latinx History Month, but they were largely met with frustration and opposition from HCHC leadership and affiliated members.

Several reasons were provided by HCHC board members and affiliates on why the Hispanic label could not be changed. First, an Executive member stated that the name could not be changed to Latin American because that would include Brazil and Haiti and that they are ‘different from us’. Second, HCHC members said that dropping the Hispanic label would be excluding people from Spain and this was a point that continued to be re-emphasized during subsequent meetings and events. Third, an HCHC affiliate justified the use of the term Hispanic by saying that ‘because the Spanish mixed in with the Indigenous population in Latin America it was not as violent or like here in Canada where the Indigenous people no longer exist’. Fourth, a member stated that the term Latinx could not be used since ‘no one would understand it’ and that there are ‘so few of them [transgender and non-binary people] in the community anyway it wouldn’t make a difference’. Lastly, an HCHC Executive member stated that a lot of work had already gone into getting the attention of politicians under the Hispanic label and that it was simply too late to change it and would make them look disorganized. It was also mentioned that HCHC was awaiting funding from the City ⁴ to make HHM possible, and that a core component of the funding would go towards developing an app for promoting Hispanic restaurants and they did not want to compromise it with a name change. When non-HCHC affiliated community members tried to question, and contest these reasons, they were interrupted, silenced and even told ‘to go back to school to learn more about history’.

Community members also expressed concern over the tokenization of Latin Americans by the City through cultural celebrations like HHM and the lack of community consultations by HCHC. Specifically, non-HCHC attendees felt that the City and HCHC should have done broader, meaningful consultations before HHM was made into policy, as there have long been Latin American cultural celebrations throughout the city and the creation of HHM seemed to have been decided behind closed doors only by a handful of elites. In addition, a Hispanic restaurant app did not seem as high of a priority for funding in comparison to better supports for youth. No coherent goals were expressed as to why HHM should take place other than being able to apply for government funding to hold cultural events, create the app and broadly promote ‘Hispanic’ culture. By the end of the meeting no consensus was reached on a different name, and HCHC and other organizations decided to do their own events under the labels of their choosing. HHM remained the official name, although in some promotional material it was changed to Hispanic-Latino Heritage Month.

The reasons provided for keeping the Hispanic label reveal the underlying politics of HHM that reproduce interlocking oppressions like anti-Black racism, settler colonialism and transphobia. HCHC’s attempt to draw concrete boundaries around the Hispanic label and distance themselves from predominantly Black countries (Brazil and Haiti), but align themselves with Spain is a form of anti-Black racism rooted in mestizaje’s legacy (Milian, 2013; Urrieta, 2012). Although the HCHC affiliate acknowledged that colonization happened in Canada, she reifies the notion that Indigenous peoples no longer exist, which is not only factually incorrect, but frames settler colonialism as a finished project and invalidates contemporary Indigenous struggles. Also, the refusal to recognize transgender and non-binary Latin American people is fundamentally transphobic. Lastly, concerns over the tokenization of Latin Americans by the City through cultural celebrations like HHM without meaningful consultation and allocation of resources to structurally disadvantaged youth, were left unaddressed.

I describe this event not to disparage HCHC, but to show how powerful white settler citizenship is in shaping the aspirations of racialized migrant communities. Their unwillingness to consider alternatives to the Hispanic label and the underlying politics of HHM demonstrate how HCHC members sought to fulfil the image of good settler Hispanic subjects laid out in Bill 28, for the sake of appealing to the white political establishment and its policy of multiculturalism for funding and recognition. As one key leader told me personally how important it was to stay united under the banner of Hispanic in order to be taken seriously by government actors and funders. Yet, they did this at the expense of addressing interlocking oppressions and the foundations of Canadian citizenship, which reflects analyses by Bannerji (2000), Thobani (2007) and Dhamoon (2013) that demonstrate how racialized migrants can reproduce settler colonial relations within their political and cultural initiatives. Furthermore, the prioritization of advertising space for Hispanic restaurants instead of resources for youth, falls neatly into the logic of Canadian multiculturalism that fails to materially benefit marginalized people of colour or strive for decolonization (Bannerji, 2000; Thobani, 2007).

The disappointment, frustration and anger non-HCHC affiliated community members felt during this discussion was echoed in my interviews with Latinx Community Workers (LCWs). All of the LCWs I spoke to out rightly rejected the term Hispanic because of its colonial underpinnings and chose to identify as Latin American, Latinx, Indigenous, Black/Afro-Latinx and/or as a woman of colour. As Maria Elena explained:

I’ve never identified with my colonizers and to me Hispanic represents that. It centres the identity of the people choosing that term to colonizers and I want nothing to do with that so I prefer not to go there.

The formation of the LAHC and the emergence of a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging

In early September 2015, Andrea Vásquez Jiménez, an Afro-Latina community activist in Toronto, started a change.org petition addressed to City, provincial and federal politicians to change the name of HHM. The petition advocated for the use of Latin-America History Month to be ‘inclusive of the multiple communities that make up Latin-America including but not limited to Indigenous people, Afro-Latinxs, gender non-conforming people … ’ (Vásquez Jiménez, 2015). Overall, this petition received 250 signatures, over 40 comments in support of the name change and was a strong impetus in the formation of the LAHC.

The LAHC was formed in mid-September 2015 by community leaders of the Latinx, Afro-Latin-America, Abya Yala Education Network ⁵ (LAEN), Poder and the Latin American and Caribbean Solidarity Network, as well as non-affiliated community members and activists. In the months following, five other community organizations became supporters. LAHC members were committed to working in the form of a non-hierarchical collective to challenge the politics of HHM as seen in their list of demands: changing the name of HHM to Latin-America History Month; grounding the cultural celebration in principles of ‘social justice, Indigenous resistance and decolonization’; establishing processes for HCHC and municipal, provincial and federal levels of government to improve community engagement, accountability and transparency; and lastly ‘to support Indigenous sovereignty here’ and end all forms of colonialism (LAHC, 2015).

LAHC’s demands (2015) show how some Latin Americans are politically organizing in a way that refuses the role of good settler Hispanic subject and does not aspire to white settler citizenship. LAHC calls on state actors and self-proclaimed Hispanic leaders to engage in broader, more inclusive consultation of marginalized community members when developing policy. Although LAHC seeks to make changes through the state in their demands to be meaningfully consulted and involved in decision-making, it also calls on the wider Latin American diaspora to commit to what I call, a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging. This kind of politic can be understood as an alternative way of practicing substantive citizenship that interrogates the white settler status quo in Canada and Latin America, refuses good settler Hispanic subjectivity and aspires to social justice and decolonization. In this way, LAHC challenges the reinforcement of settler colonialism in migrant political organizing that Bannerji (2000), Dhamoon (2013) and Thobani (2007) interrogate.

In the following section, I demonstrate how LAHC enacts a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging in their 12 October Día de la Verdad/Day of Truth Rally, a public demonstration I attended as an organizer and participant observer.I show how this rally provides a compelling example of how racialized migrant communities can practice alternative forms of politics and citizenship that aspire to decolonization.

12 October Día de la Verdad/Day of Truth Rally: Enacting a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging

On 12 October 2015, nearly 50 people gathered in front of the Ontario Legislative Building at Queen’s Park in Toronto. They sought to publicly challenge the colonial underpinnings of HHM, Columbus Day and Thanksgiving, but also affirm Indigenous, Black and Latinx histories and presents in Canada and Latin America. Queen’s Park was a strategic site for the demonstration because the contested Bill 28 was under the province of Ontario’s jurisdiction and because its name honours British monarchy – a clear indicator of Canada’s settler colonial past and present.

A Mayan elder opened the event with a ceremony and land recognition, as well as a call to build relationships with ‘our Turtle Island brothers and sisters’. Afterwards, one organizer announced that local Indigenous community members were no longer able to attend because of their own demonstration at Dundas Square happening concurrently and they send their regrets. Attendees were then invited to share their perspectives, stories and poetry to a diverse group of youth and adults.

Throughout the event, people spoke of their experiences and identities as Indigenous, Afro-Latinx, migrant and racialized first- and second-generation Latinx peoples. The insidiousness of internalized racism and historical amnesia within Latin American communities was a central issue discussed. For example, an Afro-Latina activist spoke of her experiences of anti-Black racism and misidentification within Latin American communities and Canadian society. She said, ‘when people start to say Latin American they don’t think of the Caribbean Latin American or the Garifuna or an Indigenous person’ (Rally Speaker #3, translated from Spanish). Through storytelling, she and other Afro-Latina community organizers advocated for a rethinking of who a Latin American is perceived to be and called on everyone to address racism and colonial thinking within their families, schools and communities.

Heterosexism and homophobia within Latin American communities were connected to processes of colonization, as one speaker stated:

When you hear things like she’s a lesbian or a little butch or bisexual she doesn’t know what to do or this person is trans (negative emphasis), think colonization. This is the legacy of colonialism that the Europeans imposed with their laws and doctrines and we need to see the connections between racism and homophobia. (Rally Speaker #7, translated from Spanish)

Rally Speaker 5 builds on these statements by connecting the deleterious effects of Canadian policy at home and abroad and emphasizes the need to build relationships of solidarity with Indigenous and other oppressed people. Speaker 5 underscores that while Latin Americans come to Canada in search of a better life, this does not excuse them from being complicit in the injustices committed by the state. By articulating this reality, Speaker 5 invokes a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging, as Latin Americans are called to refuse legitimizing the Canadian state and its institution of white settler citizenship, and instead look towards Indigenous people’s struggles for decolonization and justice, north and south.

Overall, the Latinx decolonial politic of belonging mobilized throughout the rally illuminated an alternative way of engaging in politics and exercising citizenship that diverges from enactments of good settler Hispanic subjectivity performed by HCHC actors. However, it is important to also remember Tuck and Yang’s (2012) call to go beyond thinking of decolonization as a metaphor. During the rally, there was no explicit discussion on how to support Indigenous sovereignty and the repatriation of land. This could be interpreted as Latin Americans conceptualizing decolonization as a metaphor or solely as an internal struggle. It could also be asked, how did this rally work to benefit Indigenous people in Canada? Latin Americans were not participating in a blockade or joining an Indigenous-led protest, but holding a demonstration at the same time Indigenous people were protesting at a different location in the city. Furthermore, rally participants were largely Spanish-speakers and there was no deliberate attempt made to reach out to Brazilian and Haitian communities during event planning. This could be seen as LAHC excluding these communities, albeit, in a less explicit way than HCHC was doing in their meeting discussed earlier. However, this is still an important gap that points to how LAHC’s practices may still reproduce the notion that Latin Americans are mainly Spanish-speakers, without ties to Brazil or the Caribbean.

While these criticisms are important, I argue that the Latinx decolonial politic of belonging expressed at the rally still align closely with the decolonial queer politic proposed by Hunt and Holmes (2015). This is because this group of Latin Americans were speaking against settler colonial narratives, drawing connections between hetero/cisnormativity and colonialism, opening lines of communication with local Indigenous people and reimagining their everyday actions in line with decolonization. A Latinx decolonial politic of belonging also aligns with Dhamoon’s (2013) politics of disruption as Latin Americans in this case are questioning the foundations of white settler dominance. However, it is distinct because it calls for not only grappling with one’s complicity in settler colonialism in Canada, but also interrogating the settler colonial baggage one has inherited from Latin America and reconfiguring ‘intra-community’ relationships. LAHC called for a more expansive notion of who counts as Latin American and for foregrounding Indigenous and Black identities and experiences. While they did not practically involve non-Spanish-speaking Brazilian and Haitian communities, it must be recognized how this was arguably the first time in Toronto Latin American politics where Afro-Latinas were visibly leading and speaking out against anti-Black and anti-Indigenous racism within and outside Latin American communities. LAHC members and rally participants sought to take a hemispheric approach to decolonization by trying to be accountable to Indigenous people in Canada and Latin America, and unsettling colonial histories and presents, north and south. Although relationship building between Latin Americans and Indigenous people in Canada is still an ongoing project with no clear roadmap, the formation of LAHC and the 12 October Rally serve as compelling starting points that should not be overlooked. Specifically, LAHC’s actions showed how racialized migrants and non-native people of colour can enact a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging – an alternative way of engaging in politics and exercising citizenship that could potentially actualize the kind of decolonization Tuck and Yang (2012) articulate and give way to a new social order.

Conclusions

This paper sought to explore how racialized migrants grapple with settler colonialism in their political organizing and enactments of substantive citizenship in Canada. By focusing on the experiences of Latin Americans in Toronto and the politics surrounding HHM and LAHC, I aimed to demonstrate the vast complexities of this diaspora and how this shapes their struggles for belonging. The findings demonstrate how Latin Americans are framed by state actors as good settler Hispanic subjects in Bill 28 and how powerful white settler citizenship is in shaping the aspirations of some Latin Americans to fulfil that representation. The findings also emphasize how aspirations for white settler citizenship can be refused and challenged as seen by LAHC members. Therefore, looking to the disparate ways racialized migrants express their culture and politically organize is crucial to better understanding how white settler colonial social relations can be internalized, reproduced and contested. This study offers the concept of a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging as an alternative way of engaging in politics and exercising citizenship that strives to disrupt the white settler status quo. As such, this study builds on previous explorations of citizenship formation that focus on the expressive ways migrants enact citizenship (Ehrkamp and Leitner, 2003; Veronis, 2006) by also considering how racialized migrants contend with settler colonialism and intra-group differences. This study also elaborates on the work of critical race scholars (Dhamoon; 2013; Saranillio, 2013; Thobani, 2007) by foregrounding the possibility for alternative, decolonial citizenship practices.

In this case, a group of Latin Americans, through LAHC, drew connections between settler colonialism in Latin America and Canada (Castellanos, 2017; Speed, 2017). They identified these connections and opposed their internalization and reproduction within HHM and sought to create an alternative cultural celebration – the 12 October Rally – that aspires to decolonization. This rally revealed a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging that involved grappling with complicity in settler colonialism, dismantling anti-Black, anti-Indigenous and hetero-cis-normative sentiments, and supporting Indigenous struggles for decolonization across the hemisphere. Although the efforts of LAHC are limited and partial, they began to shift their everyday actions by turning away from white settler institutions and opening communication with local Indigenous communities, which is a starting point to meaningful relationship building that could eventually lead to the kind of decolonization Tuck and Yang (2012) and Hunt and Holmes (2015) call for.

This study contributes to debates on Latin American identity formation that have been largely U.S.-centered by exploring how Latin Americans in Canada mobilize labels like Latina/o/x and Hispanic. Like research in the United States, many Latin Americans in Toronto understand the Hispanic label as exclusionary to people who do not identify with Spanish heritage and opt for the labels Latin American or Latinx as more progressive options (Alcoff, 2005; Oboler, 1992). At the same time, my findings echo analyses by Calderon (1992) and Gomez (1992) that community elites (i.e. middle-class professionals and political leaders) see Hispanic as a term that is more respectable to dominant society and adopt it to gain recognition, access resources and attain social mobility. While this could be interpreted as a form of ‘resistance’, the recognition and resources offered do not work towards social justice as HCHC planned to and is currently using City funding to create an app for Hispanic restaurants to market themselves, instead of creating opportunities for structurally disadvantaged community members. As discussed earlier, the use of Hispanic by community elites could also be partly explained by the influence of Spanish migrants in creating CSSP, the largest Latin American-serving NGO in Toronto (Landolt and Goldring, 2009) and the continued involvement of Spanish migrants. Future research incorporating more interviews with Latin American people in Toronto asking explicitly about how they understand their identities, could provide further insight into how community members perceive, experience and mobilize terms like Latina/o/x and Hispanic. Since the HHM controversy, there has been a change in leadership at HCHC, but it remains to be seen how this change has shaped conversations around identity in the community today and would be another important avenue to explore.

Overall, the heterogeneity of Latin American identities and politics in Toronto present compelling opportunities for decolonization. Latin Americans can refuse white settler citizenship and seek belonging through working against their complicity in settler colonialism. How Latin Americans enact citizenship is contextual and shaped by the histories and geographies they carry across an entire hemisphere. This paper suggests an alternative path for migrant political organizing that is grounded in a Latinx decolonial politic of belonging that disrupts European colonial legacies north and south. This Latinx decolonial politic of belonging may lead to more liberating ends than the false promise of white settler citizenship offered by Canada and other white settler nations.